The reality is that I get tired of lying to guys.
It’s also entirely possible that it can be blamed on the fact that I have become lazy, lethargic, and (quite frankly) impatient. The whole idea of waiting around for men to come to me—being coy, conniving, a challenge—has flown out the window to be replaced by a grown woman with a teenage boy’s libido.
Traces of elusiveness remain firmly in place for men I don’t have any interest in pursuing, of course. When I receive a text from Alejandro asking, “What are you wearing right now?” I wince with displeasure and ignore it entirely. When Brian drops me off at my apartment Tuesday night after an evening devoid of pleasure and chock full of his whining, I smile sweetly, offer my thanks, and skedaddle without any attempt at leaning back toward his outstretched, puckered lips.
It’s easy when they are like that.
The challenge comes when you dance yourself soaking wet, rub your hands up and down his six-pack abs, and kiss him passionately on top of a mound of leopard print pillows. Yes, remaining unavailable to Joel has gotten a bit tricky. Joel and I met online about a week ago. His profile picture shows him lying in bed, sleepy-faced, and clearly naked beneath the sheets. Instantly I want to go there. Honestly, who wouldn’t?